Featured Poet





Jim Minick

( Virginia )

Like the arm of a clock I shock 
this round of wood with a heft 
and a swing and a blow of the maul 

to the face of the cherry chunk. 
My hips are the pivot of this timepiece, 
minutes measured out in thunks 

that echo across the hollow. 
The cherry splits into slabs 
the color of flesh while sap 

seeps to stain the chopping block. 
I count the rings, a fingernail 
to tick each circle’s tock—

109, I think, 
but who can count the rotten 
heart, the seed’s slow start, 

the seconds clicking off 
the centuries? And where 
do you start this numbering 

of years, this journey back
to before there were ever 
any seeds, any tears?

Ghost Stump, Sun Music

A stump is the ghost of tree, 
empty shoe of one long leg
that danced to any waltz of wind.

But this spider has spun a ghost 
of a ghost, a dew-covered web 
flat and even atop fleabane.

The orb weaver’s slip of silk
circles all of what once was 
the hard surface of an old stump,

each strand a ring, a year this ghost 
dancer traced overnight.
Or is this spider a musician?

The dead-level web becomes 
a record, LP of invisible 
tunes, strands circling, spider 

a diamond needle that splinters
shining light, releases it 
to smooth grooves, the sun’s own music.


  

White Oak, Once Forked

The leftover hurl of hurricane
rives it open, this wooden wishbone,
giant slingshot, tuning fork 

for the wind, now only half 
of any of that. How old, 
who knows, centuries at least 

but no rings to count, its heart
composted to duff, bedding for bears
in a barrel-den trunk—

no more,

the lid blown open, marrow sucked dry.
Instead of black bear’s long dream 
and sigh, this trunk fills white with snow.

How will the wind ever sing again?

____________________


Jim Minick has authored two books of poetry, Her Secret Song (MotesBooks), and Burning Heaven (Wind), along with a collection of essays titled Finding a Clear Path (WVUP). His writing has appeared in many places including Shenandoah, Orion, Rivendell, Encyclopedia of Appalachia, Conversations with Wendell Berry, and The Sun. He teaches at Radford University and lives on a farm in Virginia.